


maybe not today but eventually

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bitty's first visit to Providence, Closeted, Cockblocking Shitty, M/M, Miscommunication, Plans going awry, Still a secret relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: It's all fun and games until Shitty Knight says, "Well, I’m getting on the fucking bus and coming down there. I need me some Jack and Bits time!"





	1. Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely AuntBabe over on Tumblr prompted me to write about what happens when Bitty comes up to stay with Jack in August, working in the little we know from canon. And though I adore a good "they are just in bed for a full week" fic (like, I really love those), I thought I'd try something a little different. 
> 
> I plan to post the next chapters over the course of this week, so it should not be a long wait. Thanks, AuntBabe!

**Bittle** _My plane gets in on Tuesday at 4:15. Delta. TF Green._

 **Jack** _I know._

 **Bittle** _Can’t be too sure!_

 **Jack** _It’s been on my calendar for a month. There’s a star by it._

 **Bittle** _A star?_

 **Jack** _More of an asterisk._

 **Bittle** _Goodness_

 **Jack** _Also, it’s circled._

 **Bittle** _Stop_

 **Jack** _Just get here._

*

Jack is wandering through the bedding section in some department store (honestly, he’s lost track of which one). He has that murky, drifty feeling he sometimes gets when he’s been in a mall for too long, like time has stopped and the escalators might just be taking him up and down to nowhere. However, he has it in his mind that he needs more pillows, some place mats, and an extra blanket before Bits arrives, so he’s strolling the linens department and trying to look like he knows what he’s doing so he can avoid the sales staff.

His phone rings while he’s testing the firmness of various pillows. He’s already heard from his parents and from Bitty, so he has a good guess about who might be on the line.

Indeed, the voice on the other end is so loud that Jack has to hold his phone away from his ear. “Happy birthday you goddamn fucking masterpiece! I love you, Jack Zimmermann! Woooo!”

Jack grins and pulls the phone closer. “Hey, Shitty.”

“I’m gonna sing, motherfucker. Get ready.”

“I’m ready.” It took Jack years to learn not to argue when Shitty is in celebratory mood. 

Jack gets an earful of Shitty’s rendition of the birthday song, and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot in the middle of housewares. “Thanks, Shitty. I keep forgetting that it’s today.”

“Well that’s just sad, brah.”

“It’s fine. Too much going on to worry about it.”

“Well, that must be pleasant.” Shitty sighs, and Jack can almost hear him reclining onto something and kicking his feet up. “I, on the other hand, am fuckin’ bored to tears now that I’m all moved in and Lardo is home and school is a damn month away.” 

“We can hang out sometime.” As soon as he says it, Jack regrets it. He really doesn’t want to make any plans in the next few days.

Shitty, on the other hand, sounds thrilled. “Name a place and time and I’m there, my friend. I’ll even bring a fucking cake.” 

“Well…” Jack feels his face start to heat, aware he could really mess this up. He lets himself start filing through his mental schedule. Maybe Shitty could come down after Bitty’s been in town for a few days? That could work. “Well, Bittle’s plane gets in tomorrow afternoon…”

“Wait. What?”

Jack freezes. Shit. “Didn’t I tell you? Bittle’s coming up early to...visit.” He really hasn’t practiced this whole deception piece enough.

“What the fuck, brah. I’m sitting here with my thumb up my ass, staring at paint drying, and you forgot to tell me that Bitty is arriving at your place tomorrow? What the hell?”

“Sorry. The date just kind of snuck up on me.”

“Well, I’m getting on the fucking bus and coming down there. I need me some Jack and Bits time!”

Jack’s entire body has flooded with ice; he can feel the moment getting away from him. He scrambles to come up with some genius and plausible reason why Shitty shouldn’t come for a few days. But he can’t think of a damn thing to say except, “Okay. Yeah, sure. Sweet.”

“We can surprise him at the airport, dude! Oh shit, there’s gonna be summer fruit pie, Jack. _Summer fruit pie._ Fuck your birthday cake. This is gonna be epic!”

Jack hears the words echoing through his skull as he sinks down onto the edge of a display mattress and tries to comprehend what’s just happened. 

*

 **Jack** _Bits, you’re not picking up. Hope everything is okay._

 **Jack** _Something happened I need to tell you about._

 **Jack** _I messed up._

 **Jack** _I need to talk to you._

 **Jack** _Call me._

*

“Jack?” Bitty’s voice is unusually quiet. “What’s happened?”

Jack is so relieved to finally have him on the phone, but now he’s not even sure what to say. “Hey, Bits. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

“...Okay?” 

“He had me cornered and I didn't know how to get out of it, and now everything is complicated.”

“Oh.”

“And I think we can work it out, but I’m not sure how…”

Bitty interrupts, his voice loud and clear. “Jack, honey. What are you talking about, because I’ll be honest, my heart can’t take whatever this is right now, I swear to god.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ending things with me?”

Jack’s stomach plummets. “No. Sorry. Did it sound like...oh god, no, Bitty.” This is really not the birthday Jack had planned for himself. “I’m talking about Shitty. He’s managed to invite himself down here to stay with us starting tomorrow.”

It’s quiet on the phone for a moment, and then Bitty lets out the most hysterical sputtering laugh, and Jack starts to be able to feel his feet again. “Jesus Christ on a cracker, you mad human. Don’t do that to a boy!”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how it sounded.” Jack lets himself settle down onto the sofa, his pulse still accelerated. “Sorry.”

“So I’m still getting on a plane tomorrow and comin’ up there?”

“Please. Yes.” Jack’s breath starts evening out. “Yes, please.”

“But now...Shitty’s coming, too?”

Jack sighs. “Bits, I’m so sorry. He invited himself and I couldn’t think of a single reason to explain why he wouldn’t be welcome.” _Except telling him the truth._ But they aren’t there yet, Jack knows. He’s not there yet.

Bitty is quiet for a moment. “Jack, I just want to spend time with you. It’s gonna be fine. We’re friends first, right? We’ll have a great time with Shitty.” 

“It’s not what I thought this visit would be, Bits. I had...plans.” (Like pressing Bitty up against the wall the moment he arrived and kissing every inch of his skin and peeling off clothing and not leaving the apartment for two days (he’s stocked the kitchen)). 

“Well, you shush up and keep those plans to yourself for now and spring ‘em on me when I can get there without any tag-along nudist law students, sweetheart.” Bitty’s voice sounds so light and calm, like this news hasn’t devastated him the way it has Jack, but Jack’s just starting to understand how often Bitty’s outward reactions are just for show. He wishes that they were on FaceTime so he could see Bitty’s expression. 

“The main element of the plan was to kiss you, Bits. Often. And now maybe I can’t.”

Bitty’s voice changes, gets deeper and quieter. “Oh.” He takes a breath that Jack can almost feel against his ear. “We’ll make it work, honey. That’s what we’re gonna do. Make this all work.”

“I know, Bits.”

“We got this, sweetheart.”

*

Shitty’s bus gets in around noon the next day. When they get to Jack’s place, Shitty tackles Jack into the carpeting and talks a mile a minute, asking endless questions about the Falconers and Providence and the summer, and if Jack wasn’t so stressed about the change in plans, he knows he’d be ridiculously happy to see him.

Shitty insists they make welcome signs to hold up at the airport for Bitty. Shitty’s says _Aren’t you THE Eric Richard Bittle?_ and he draws a variety of pies and hockey gear in a border around the words.

Jack thinks for a long time, and then makes a simple sign that says, _Welcome home #15._

“Shouldn’t that be ‘welcome back’, brah? Not ‘welcome home’?”

Jack doesn’t change it.

*

It’s not too bad at first. 

At the airport, it’s not like they were planning to fall into each other’s arms at the meeting area anyway, so the solid hug (with a little lingering touch to his lower back that Jack can still feel) is acceptable. Bitty fakes surprise at Shitty’s presence very convincingly, and the two of them start chatting away while Jack goes to pick up Bitty’s luggage off the carousel. 

They survive the car ride home. Bitty gives up the front seat to Shitty, “on account of him needin’ the extra leg room and all,” and it’s probably easier. Shitty and Bitty chirp each other about music for the entire drive, and Jack watches the road. 

It’s okay for a while at Jack’s apartment, too, while he gives his guests the tour and Bitty gasps and applauds and pretends like he hasn’t seen every square inch of the place via internet connection over the last two months. 

Then Shitty goes down the hall to use the bathroom and they are alone for a moment, and suddenly it’s not okay at all. Jack can’t figure out how to say anything, and Bitty is literally glowing in the afternoon light pouring into Jack's windows. Bitty says, “Hey, you,” real soft, looks at Jack with his big brown eyes, and reaches out to gently pull on the hem of Jack’s t-shirt. Jack manages to say, “Hi,” moments before Bitty is somehow crowded into Jack’s space, up on his toes and they meet in a furious, heated kiss that goes from zero to one hundred in a matter of seconds. Jack’s hands grasp at clothes and hair and anything, anything to be sure Bits knows how much he wants him here. How much he wants him.

Then the bathroom door opens and they hear Shitty turn on the fan and shout, “I’d give it a minute before you go in there. Oof!” 

They drop each other like they are on fire (and Jack thinks he might actually be) before Shitty wanders back into the room wiping his hands on his jeans and saying, “Okay, my fine fellows, what’s next? Shall we dine?” 

Jack can’t imagine how he’s going to survive the rest of this visit.


	2. Baseball

Things don’t get much better as the evening progresses. 

They eat dinner at a pub down the block (Jack likes their Reubens). He intentionally sits across the booth from Bitty to maintain some distance, but that doesn’t really help because he has nowhere to look but Bitty’s face (tan, faintly blushing, red-lipped...shit) all through the meal. Jack spends an uncomfortable amount of time with his gaze fixed on the TV screen over the bar (Mets/Angels, tied in the seventh) to avoid meeting Bitty’s eyes.

Shitty and Bitty ramble on together, getting caught up, and Jack makes himself add an occasional, “Yeah, huh,” to hold up his end of the conversation. It’s all he can manage.

When their food arrives, Jack’s sandwich has a candle stuck in it. Shitty winks at the waitress and then loudly convinces the entire pub to sing to Jack. Jack doesn’t even try to protest, but he can’t help but mouth the word, “Help,” at Bitty in the midst of the song. Bitty just shakes his head and holds Jack’s gaze, the sweetest touch of a grin on his face. Under the table, Bitty’s foot snakes around Jack’s ankle, and it has to do.

*

While they are walking home in the warm violet of dusk, city lights on, streets quiet (and Jack’s imagining wrapping his arm around Bitty’s shoulders and feeling him lean in against him as they walk), Shitty pipes up. 

“So, my bros. I am not remotely suggesting we call it a night, but eventually we gotta work out the sleeping arrangements.”

Jack steals a quick glance at Bitty, who looks almost as panicked as Jack feels. 

Bitty says, “You go on ahead and have the guest room, Shitty. I’ll be fine. I can take the couch.”

“Or…” Jack trips a little on the sidewalk and almost can’t find his voice for a moment, “...we could share, Bits. I don’t mind.”

Bitty looks at him for a moment, big eyes wide, and Jack has to bite his lip hard. 

But then Shitty interjects. “Nah, dudes! I’m the asshole who dropped into this party at the last minute. Bits, you came all the way up here from the greater Atlanta metropolitan area. You deserve your own room, brah. I’m sure Jack has it all fixed up for you. Jack, you and I can share...it’ll be like ol’ times!” 

Jack feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. 

Bitty tries again. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Shitty. I’m smaller, so why don’t I be the one to share?”

“Not a problem, Bits. Have you seen Jack’s fucking ginormous, millionaire hockey guy bed? Honestly, all three of us could probably sleep in it and not even be in the same zip codes!”

“Not all three of us, please,” Jack says, before he even thinks, because this is all hard enough without Shitty literally lying in bed between them.

“Fine, Mr. No Fun. But I insist, Bits. Take the room.”

Jack can’t think of a single other thing to say. He and Bitty look at each other, and then Bitty sighs and says, “Okay. Thanks, Shitty.”

“That’s what friends are for, brah!”

*

They manage to steal a brief moment in the guest room before bed, with the excuse that Jack needs to show Bitty where the extra towels and blankets are kept (even though Bitty knows; Jack’s Skyped for advice about the guest room closet more than once).

This time, Jack just pulls Bitty close and wraps him all the way up, as close as they can get. Feels Bitty’s arms wind around him and grab tight across his lower back. Never wants to let go. 

“To be clear,” Jack says into Bitty’s hair, “I definitely did _not_ have this room all fixed up for you.”

Bitty snorts a little against Jack’s chest and swats at him. “Hush, you. That doesn’t help.”

Jack pulls Bitty up for a quick kiss. “I know.”

*

Back at Samwell, sleeping in Shitty’s bed once in awhile was one of the few concessions Jack would make to his anxiety. Sometimes, usually after a hard game or a tough talk with his dad, being alone in the dark felt impossible. He’d always sleep like a rock in Shitty’s soft flannel sheets, however, lulled by gentle snores. 

Not like now. 

Jack is wide awake, and maybe Shitty is having allergies or some other ear, nose, and throat ailment, because his snores are like buzz saws, he's drooling all over the pillow Jack bought for Bitty, and he’s managed to take over three-quarters of the bed with his sprawl. Bitty’s down the hall and out of reach, and Jack’s feeling pretty uncharitable about this entire damn situation as he watches the clock turn over to three a.m. 

His phone buzzes quietly. Shitty shifts around, but doesn’t wake. Jack shields the screen and checks his texts.

 **Bittle** _Please tell me you are awake_

Jack almost says, “Thank god,” out loud. Stops himself just in time.

 **Jack** _Yes. Living room._

Jack slides out of bed as gently as he can. Shitty’s a light sleeper on a normal night, and a known insomniac on the road. Jack thanks his thick carpeting and squeak-free bedroom door as he eases out and tiptoes down the long hallway.

*

Before Bitty, Jack hadn’t ever really spent much time just _kissing_. Kissing was part of sex, of course, but he’d never thought of it as something he might choose to do for long periods of time all on its own. Then Madison, Georgia happened to him, and just talking and being close and kissing off and on for hours in the back of an F-150 turned out to be the single best night of his life. 

They are trying to be so quiet now, Jack on the sofa, Bitty perched on Jack’s thighs with his knees bracketing Jack’s hips, all lips and hands and quiet, intense focus. Jack’s entire body is numb, like he’s gone out of himself, and all that’s left are Bitty’s hands, and Bitty’s lips against his own. This is all he’s been wanting, for the last long month of waiting.

Bitty pulls back, after what’s felt like hours, and leans his forehead against Jack’s, his voice whispered and soft. “I want to take you to bed, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack can’t get air in his lungs for a moment. 

Jack pulls Bitty in closer. He’s so slim, and Jack loves the way his arms can wrap all the way around him and he can still grasp his own elbows, locking Bitty against him. Words hang on his tongue, begging to be said ( _”I want to be taken”_ ). Their kisses take on a new urgency, and Jack feels...

There’s a loud snort followed by a shout and thump from down the hall, and the distinct sound of someone getting out of bed and walking around. Jack feels himself freeze, and Bitty does the same. They wait, bodies pressed so close, blood racing, and Jack can count the seconds as they pass. 

Then, Shitty’s slurred voice, far away. “Jack?”

Shit.

Bitty hops up and scurries away down the hall to his room; Jack hardly even sees him go.

Jack hopes his voice sounds steady. “Just getting some water, Shits,” he whisper-shouts down towards his bedroom door. 

By the time Jack feels ready to retreat back to bed, Bitty’s door is closed, and Shitty is already snoring again. 

*

Jack is roused by the familiar scent of Shitty’s wake ‘n bake wafting in and the sound of Bitty’s music playing down the hall. It’s out of place but also comforting, and for a minute, Jack’s just glad that his friends are here for a visit, making their marks on this new phase of his life.

Just for a minute. 

When Jack comes out to the kitchen, it’s obvious that Bitty is exhausted: bleary-eyed, blonde hair matted up on one side. He’s gorgeous. He’s assembling batter but still manages to smile at Jack, and Jack has to lock his hands together behind his back to keep from touching him. 

Shitty’s at the table with the New York Times and his pipe, reading the headlines aloud, taking hits, and adding his own commentary throughout. Jack soaks in the easy familiarity. He can’t stop sneaking looks at Bitty, confidently moving around his kitchen like he belongs there, like he knows where everything belongs (because he does).

Over his second round of pancakes, Shitty pounds his palm onto the table and announces, “Since you two had jack shit on tap for today, I went ahead and made some plans for us, gentlemen.”

Jack sips his coffee. “You did?” Bitty peeks out from the kitchen.

Shitty produces a printout from the his wallet and slaps it down on the table. “Three tickets, first base line, PawSox. Game time, 1:10 p.m., my bros.”

“Baseball?” Bitty says, eyebrows raised, glancing at Jack.

“Fucking badass, triple-A, Red Sox farm-team baseball, Bits. Plus, you get to see beautiful Pawtucket, Rhode Island. You’re welcome.”

Jack smiles and shrugs a little. At least doing something will be better than doing nothing. Bitty looks at Jack, shakes his head and says, “Take me out to the ball game, boys.”

*

Jack likes the Pawtucket Red Sox stadium immediately; intimate crowd size, hot dogs, popcorn, kids invited down to the field, players signing autographs in the dugout. Jack feels about baseball the way he feels about all sports that are not hockey; he admires the athletes and finds it interesting to watch in a sort of analytical way, but he rarely gets emotionally invested in the results. Not so Shitty, whose blood runs Red Sox red, and who actually knows the stats of most of the guys playing for the PawSox as well. He’s already hooting and clapping before they even sit down.

They find their seats and Bitty starts slathering on sunscreen, lecturing Jack and Shitty until they do too. Bitty is wearing a red tank top, cut-offs, and a pair of Jack’s aviator sunglasses; Jack can hardly look at him at all, much less watch him apply sun block. 

“Here, I’ll get the back of your neck, Jack,” Bitty says, and suddenly his hands are on Jack’s skin, rubbing in lotion, and Jack can feel a sudden flush fire up his cheeks. He wants to close his eyes and sink into the feeling, but Shitty is right fucking there in the next seat over, so he doesn’t.

*

Six innings in and the Sox are up by five runs and it doesn’t look like their lead is in any danger. Shitty is settled in between Jack and Bitty with a huge beer (his second, Bitty’s nursing his first) and a tub of fries. 

“Now, Bits, I might be wrong,” Shitty says, gazing out at the field, “but I’m thinking these are some fine-looking gentleman ball players. Am I correct?”

Bitty glances past Shitty and straight at Jack for a moment (big brown eyes) and then laughs. “Passable to look at, yes.”

Shitty shoves fries in his mouth and says, chewing, “Which one would you bang?”

Jack’s stomach hits his throat. “Shitty.”

Shitty kicks his feet up onto the unoccupied seats in front of them. “Statistically, at least of few of ‘em would be up for it, right?”

Bitty rolls his eyes and then nods, but his voice is light and teasing. “Statistically, yes. I suppose. What’s your point, Mr. Knight?”

“So. Hypothetically. Who is the most scrumptious of these large hunks of manliness? I know my answer. And Jackie, brah, you know I’m asking you next, so start scoutin’.”

Jack can feel himself start to sweat. 

“Okay…” Bitty stares out at the field with an appraising eye, and Jack watches him. “If I have to pick, I like that...number eight.”

“Ah, yes, Cruz. Good choice. My runner-up.” Jack realizes that Shitty’s been thinking about this for a while. “What do you find particularly bang-worthy about our beloved catcher?”

“Well…” Bitty looks over at Jack now, his eyebrows high and little smirk on his lips, “...there’s the dark, brooding good looks for a start. The boy obviously has a quality booty from all that squatting, and I like to think he might have a sultry little accent. And look, oh my, a .328 average, so quite an athlete.” Bitty’s gaze returns to Jack, intimate now, big eyes and soft lips, like it’s just the two of them, like Shitty isn’t lounging between them in his unbuttoned Red Sox jersey. “Who wouldn’t fall hard for that?”

Jack has to swallow, hard.

Shitty just nods and sips his beer. “Well researched, Bits. I appreciate your balanced interest in his stats _and_ his ass.”

“Well,” Bitty says, looking away from Jack and putting his best chirp face on, “he’s well-rounded in every way.”

Shitty looks like he almost snorts beer, and Bitty laughs at his own bad joke. Jack knows he’s gone all stiff and should be laughing, but the way Bitty had just held him in his gaze, so calm and _wanting_. Jack can’t even make himself chuckle.

Bitty hops up, still grinning, and says, “Lord, I need the powder room. Be right back,” and then trots off up the aisle.

Jack sits for a minute, notices that his heel is tapping aggressively against the ground and his hand is clenched tight. “Sorry, Shits. I need to go too,” he says, and blunders off after Bitty. 

*

Jack catches up with Bitty before he reaches the restrooms, grabs his hand (“Oh my, Jack! What are you…?), and leads him to the far end of the concourse, away from the concessions and the crowds, until he finds a little nook behind some stored bleachers, pulls Bitty in, presses him up against the cinder block wall (finally, back on plan) and cups his face in his hands.

“Jack what are we doing, honey? Someone might see.”

Jack leans in so his nose is touching Bitty’s, right where it turns up. “I don’t fucking care, Bits.”

All of the frustration and need of the past twenty-four hours flood Jack’s system, and he presses into Bitty with a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Bitty doesn't hesitate, grabs onto Jack's shirt and pulls himself up and closer, opens to him, drags one hand into Jack's hair and tugs a little (oh god), and the world around them stops for just a moment, just fades away and everything Jack wants is right there in front of him. 

It's Bitty who pulls away eventually, gently pushing against Jack's chest with one hand, and breathing hard against Jack's cheek.

"Lord, sweetheart, I get it."

Jack breath is coming hard. "Get it?"

"We really need to get Shitty back on home, don't we?"

Jack feels tension drop from his shoulders that he didn't even know he was carrying. Because he hadn't known for sure if this was hard for Bits, too, or whether he was just fine with stolen kisses and interruptions and random baseball.

"You want him to go?"

"Jack, I adore Shitty Knight and would name my first born after him if his name wasn't a swear, but lord almighty I want that boy back in Boston yesterday, and you all to my own self."

"Yeah?"

Bitty answers by shaking his head and stretching up onto his toes to land a soft kiss on Jack's lips. "Yes. Don't you know that?"

"Now I do." Jack feels himself smile, and Bitty kisses him again.

"We gotta survive right now, though, honey, so you just hustle yourself over to concessions and buy me and Shitty another round or a corn dog or something. I need the little boys room, and we'll meet back at the seats." Bitty is combing his fingers through his hair and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "How do I look?"

Bitty's shirt is sliding off one shoulder, his lips are moist, and his face is flushed. Jack stares. "You look you were just dragged into an alcove and kissed by someone who's madly in love with you."

Bitty wacks Jack's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Well that won't do. Help me get presentable, Mr. Zimmermann. We've got a guest to bamboozle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though the PawSox are real, I've made up everything else about them. I'm not even sure if they sell chocolate-dipped strawberries. I'm really slacking on my research lately! :)
> 
> ETA: No chocolate dipped strawberries at the PawSox, it seems. Bummer. Edited for less fancy-assed baseball treats!


	3. Bros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I need one more chapter to end the UST and agony. Sorry, y'all.  
> *evil laugh*

On the way home from the game, Shitty suggests they barbecue ribs for dinner. Bitty’s eyes light up. He announces he’ll try mixing up a gourmet version of the Bittle family BBQ sauce, and starts tapping out a list of ingredients into his phone. Jack’s feeling slightly more amenable now that he and Bits have shared their intention of getting Shitty to go home soon (even though he has no solid ideas about how to accomplish this goal). 

“It can be my summer vlog special if we like it. Bitty’s barbecue and Meemaw’s cornbread muffins.”

“You making cornbread muffins, Bits?” Shitty asks.

Jack eyes Bitty in the rear view mirror. “Shitty, have you ever known Eric Bittle to name a baked good out loud, and then not make it within the hour?” 

“Chirp chirp, Mr. Zimmermann. No cornbread for you.”

*

Back at Jack’s apartment, Shitty cracks open three beers and hands them out, then goes outside onto Jack's terrace to get the coals started. Jack settles in on one of the kitchen stools to watch Bitty at work. It’s quiet for a moment (finally), nothing but the domestic sounds of Bitty bustling around the kitchen. Jack’s thinking far too much about the soft line of hair at the back of Bitty’s neck, and not enough about how to get an unwanted guest out of his house, when Shitty comes back in from the deck.

“Coals are on, kids.” 

“Thanks,” Jack says, and looks at Bitty. 

“So...uh, Shitty,” Bitty starts, darting the smallest of panicked glances back at Jack. Jack sits up straighter. “What else do you have going on this week?”

Shitty frowns and tilts his head. “Huh?”

“I mean...back in Boston? Plans, or something?” Bitty has gone back to packing brown sugar. 

Shitty laughs. “Plans, brah? Besides sweating through my undies?”

“Eww,” Bitty says under his breath. Jack tries not to smile.

“Don’t judge, Bits. No air conditioning in my place. It’s like a hot yoga studio.”

“You like hot yoga,” Jack tries, taking a swig off his beer. Bitty smiles at him for moment and then ducks his head, and Jack’s stomach does a pleasant flip.

“Not all fucking day, Zimmermann.”

“Wait.” Bitty raises his eyebrows and looks hard at Jack, his eyes wide. “Shitty, we should get you one of those little window air conditioning units. Jack and I’ll drive you up tomorrow and help you install it!” He looks at Jack like he’s just scored a goal in OT.

“Don’t those things cost a shit-ton on your electric bill?”

Bitty bites his lip and looks back down at his sauce. “I...don’t know.”

“Nah, I’m good, Bits. Another few days down here in this motherfucking palace of temperature control, and I’ll survive the rest of August.”

Another few days. Shit. “You only have a month, Shitty. You must have a few things in mind to get done before school starts,” Jack says, suddenly actually a little worried about Shitty’s life skills.

“I dunno. Smoke a few bowls. Assemble my new barbecue that I’m totally getting after today.” Jack’s ears perk up at that one. “Oh, and I was thinking about adopting a rabbit, maybe.”

“Aww, cute! Really?” Bitty says, pausing in his stirring.

“No,” Jack says without pause. Shitty.

“Sorry?” Shitty says.

“You heard me.” 

Bitty glances over at Jack, his brows pulled together. “Well, I, for one, think it’s an adorable idea,” Bitty says pointedly. “Shitty, we can drive up to Boston first thing tomorrow, help you pick it out and buy all the gear and food. Then get you and little fluffers settled in to your place!”

“Sorry, no.” Jack really wants to be alone with Bitty, but he’s not going to sacrifice an innocent rabbit to do it. “Shitty, how many spontaneous adventures have you taken in the last three weeks?”

Shitty frowns for a moment, counting on his fingers. “Five? Six if being here counts.”

“It counts.”

“Then six.”

“You should not own a pet.”

Shitty pauses for a moment, staring at Jack. “You think I’d kill the rabbit, brah?”

“Not intentionally, Shits.”

Shitty squints his eyes and looks up at the ceiling for a long moment before he says, “Fair enough.”

“Yeah. No rabbit. Sorry.” Jack says it more to Bitty than to Shitty, but Shitty doesn't seem to notice. Bitty pouts for a moment at Jack and gives him a desperate ‘what now?’ shrug. Jack shakes his head back. He hasn’t got a clue.

“How’re those muffins coming along, Bits? Your barbecue sauce smells like fucking ambrosia.” Shitty kicks back on the sofa like he’s there to stay.

*

As the evening wears on, Bitty keeps trying. 

Didn’t Shitty know he’s always wanted to walk the Freedom Trail? (“Bits, if you want to fuckin’ revel in the paunchy-assed, slave-owning, wig-wearing white patriarchy that founded our country, have at it. I’ll stay here.”) He’s heard the Boston Museum of Science is cool, and isn’t that not too far from Shitty’s new place? (“Dude, that place is the bomb, but it will be nasty with tourists. Let’s check that shit out on a weekday next fall.”) He’s dying to eat lobster wearing one of those plastic bibs! (“Bits, you have played on a team with Dex for a year. You better not eat your first lobster without that kid in attendance.”) At this point, Jack is just sitting back, trying not to laugh at or kill Shitty, and taking copious notes for a future romantic and jam-packed weekend in Boston with Bitty.

“Damn, those were delicious,” Shitty says, eventually. He’s reclined on a deck chair, beer in one hand, gnawing on his last rib. “This is the god-damn life, Jack.”

“Yeah, sure is.” Jack is perched on the edge of a chair, elbows on his knees, still nursing his one beer, and thinking.

“I fuckin’ love you, brah,” Shitty says, closing his eyes. “Both of you assholes.”

Bitty has gone inside to finish up something in the kitchen. Jack stares at Shitty (shades on, BBQ sauce in his moustache, Birkenstocks kicked off), thinks about his words, and remembers: this is his best friend. Jack should just tell him, right here, right now, that he’s madly in love with Bitty, and that it’s seeming more and more possible that Bitty might actually be madly in love with him right back, and that it’s the greatest thing that has ever happened in his life. God, it would be such a relief to say it out loud. Jack can feel the words, sitting there on his tongue, in fully formed sentences, ready to leap out into being.

But he can’t. He would never put Shitty in the position of having to lie for him to keep it quiet. And he would have to talk to Bitty first anyway. Jack trusts Shitty with his life, but Jack’s life isn’t just _his_ anymore; it’s Bitty’s too (and damn if that thought doesn’t knock the wind right out of him for a minute). 

But Shitty’s his best friend. 

Jack grabs his phone.

 **Jack** _Stay inside for a few minutes?_

 **Bittle** _???_

 **Jack** _Sorry. Don’t worry._

Jack puts down his phone, which promptly buzzes again, but he ignores it. He clears his throat. “Hey, Shitty?” Jack says.

Shitty pushes his sunglasses onto his forehead and peeks out at Jack, one eye still closed. Something of Jack’s mood must be visible, because Shitty takes one look at him and then pushes his glasses all the way into his hair and sits up. “Oh shit, Jack. What’s up?”

“Huh?”

“You have your serious talk face on.”

Jack closes his mouth and tries to relax his expression, shaking his head. “Oh sorry, no. No big deal. Just.” Jack licks his dry lips, and tastes a little lingering hint of Bitty’s BBQ sauce.

“Just say what you need say, my man. I’m listening.” Shitty is sitting all the way up now. 

Jack inhales deep and then starts. “You know how I’ve stayed with you in Cambridge, what, three times?”

Shitty nods. “Yeah, sounds right.”

“And you’ve been down here like, two weekends so far this summer. Just you and me?”

“Yeah, it’s been sweet, brah.” Shitty has a little worried smile now, his head cocked to one side. Through the window, Jack can see Bitty rinsing dishes and pinging anxious looks out at them. 

Jack blunders on, his heart thumping like a kettle drum. “Yeah, totally sweet. But, Shitty?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s what this week was meant to be for me and Bittle.”

It’s quiet for a minute, and Jack can see Shitty’s wheels turning, knows the moment Jack’s words finally click into place. Shitty’s face melts in agony. “Fuuuuucck, Jack. I am such an ass. I’ve been totally third-wheelin’ your Bitty bro-time?” 

“That's not exactly how I’d put it…” Jack mutters, but Shitty’s still moaning and knocking himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand, and he doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Damn, brah, I’m on it. I’ll bug out of here, no need to say more.”

“You know it’s different for me, just one person...or a group…” Jack’s heart is still going hard.

Shitty shushes him with a finger to the lips, and his expression is so sincere that Jack wants to cave and tell him everything. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Jackie. I’m the asshole who knows you fucking well enough that you don’t need to finish that sentence.”

Jack isn’t sure why it took so long to remember that he can just talk to Shitty. It’s why they are friends, after all, because they could do that for each other, right from the beginning. He’s overwhelmed with it for a moment. “Stay tonight, Shits. It’s been good to have you here. Really. Bittle is staying a couple more days. We can drive you to Boston tomorrow.” Jack thinks he might suggest they buy the barbecue Shitty mentioned, help him put it together (then drive back to Providence and stay in bed for three days. Oh god, it’s going to happen).

Shitty frowns and says, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. But Shitty…” Jack feels the tension drain out of his chest, “I can’t listen to your snoring again.”

“I do not snore, sir.”

“And…” Jack let’s his voice get serious again, “you know how Bittle is with, um…” Jack searches for the word, “...etiquette?” 

Shitty's nods and snorts.

“He’ll be pissed if he thinks I asked you to leave.”

“I’m on it, brah. Trust me.”

Jack nods and holds out his beer bottle. Shitty grins back, reaches out with his own bottle, and clinks.

*

When they pull open the sliding glass door and come back inside, Bitty is hunched over the sink, looking everywhere but at them, and Jack can sense his uncertainty from across the room. He imagines for a moment what he would do if he had actually told Shitty about everything (crowd up behind Bitty at the sink, wrap his arms around his waist, kiss him all along the back of his neck). What he actually does is try to catch Bitty’s eye, shoot him what he hopes is a calming smile, and give him a quick thumbs up. 

Bitty looks curiously back and forth between Jack and Shitty, his hands still submerged in suds. 

“Bad news, Bits. Just got a text from Mother Knight,” Shitty says, plopping down on one of the kitchen stools. “There’s some craptastic dinner party I have to attend tomorrow night with the fam. I’ll have to head home in the morning.”

Jack’s watching close enough to see Bitty’s eyes widen, to see the motion of his throat as he swallows down his initial reaction to this news. His voice is tight and quiet as he manages to stutter out, “Tomorrow? Oh, that's too bad, Shitty.”

“Eh, it’s fine. I should get back anyway. You know," crooked smile, wink, "I'm going to be a damn Harvard law student any day now.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Bitty chirps. He’s looking at Shitty, but his cheeks are flushed, and Jack thinks maybe he’s realized what this means, that this is actually going to happen.

“So, let’s make the most of tonight before we all start acting like adults or some shit,” Shitty says, getting up and pulling another beer from the fridge. “Fuck the dishes, Bits. Let’s play pool.”

Bitty dries his hands as Shitty racks up. Jack stares at Bitty in the kitchen. As Bitty trots past him to grab a cue, still rosy cheeked and smiling, Jack feels him drag his fingers, soft and slow, along the skin of his lower back, just above his belt loops. 

Merde. One more day.

*


	4. Breathe

Jack manages to convince Shitty to sleep in his bed again while he takes the sofa. (“I’ve slept on your terrible mattress, Shitty. It’s awful. Just stay in mine for one more night. I insist.”) Bitty racks up the next game and doesn’t look at either of them, but Jack can see a flush creeping up his throat. 

When Shitty trots off to get another beer from the kitchen, Bitty whispers under his breath, “You know you do have to actually sleep on the sofa, mister, until he’s gone.”

Jack elbows Bitty and mutters back, “I don't know what you’re implying, Bittle. I just can’t take his snoring.”

Bitty shoots him a look that might be annoyance, or might be love. Jack tries hard not to worry that he doesn’t yet entirely know the difference.

*

It’s Bitty, though, who can’t stay put through the night. 

Jack is only dozing (the sofa is not actually that great for sleeping, turns out; he’ll remember that for future visitors) so he hears the click of the guest room door opening and the soft pad of bare feet on the hard wood of the hallway. He doesn’t open his eyes though, not until the sofa cushions flex under the weight of another body, Bitty, gently sitting into the little space made by the bend of Jack’s hips as he lays on his side. Jack’s whole body sighs into the closeness.

“Hey,” Jack says, his arm reaching out to cup Bitty’s waist before he can even think.

“Hey, you.” 

Jack lets his fingers trace little circles on the skin at Bitty’s hip, right below the edge of the old t-shirt he’s wearing. One of Bitty’s hands comes to rest on Jack’s shoulder, warm and gentle. It’s quiet except for breathing, and in the dim light, Jack can see Bitty’s wide eyes, staring at him.

“Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Shitty’s mama didn’t text him, did she?” 

Jack exhales. “No. She didn’t.” He can faintly see Bitty’s frown in the light coming in from the street.

“What did you say to him?”

Jack adjusts on the sofa, pulling himself up a little so that he can look Bitty in the eye and get his other hand onto his knee. “I told him that I wanted some time alone with you. As friends.”

“You asked him to leave?”

“Once I said it, he volunteered.”

Bitty is still frowning, and his hand is still on Jack’s arm. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“I thought you’d be mad at me for being rude.”

“I am.”

“So,” Jack swallows, raises his eyebrows, and hopes he’s managed a chirpy tone in his voice, “I was...right?”

“Jack.” Bitty’s mouth purses into a thin line, but it’s not actual anger; Jack can tell that much. He gently nudges Bitty's side with his hip. “Stop it, you menace.” Bitty gently swats at Jack’s chest.

Jack grins and grabs Bitty’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “I was always going to tell you, Bits. I thought it would be easier to get Shitty home first.”

Bitty leans against Jack’s hip and his fingers tighten on Jack’s shoulder. “Oh lord, Jack. He’s really going away tomorrow.” Bitty’s voice suddenly takes on a husky rasp, and Jack shivers. He’s heard that voice a few times before, when they were together in Madison. It settles into his bones now.

“Yes, he is,” is all Jack can manage. Jack can feel every fingertip, Bitty’s and his own. God, he wants this so much. 

“Bits?”

“Hmm?”

Jack slows his hands and takes a long breath. “I’m going to stay out here tonight.”

Bitty’s fingers still as well. “Okay.”

Jack knows he needs to explain, but the words feel like a jungle. “I just...this is my home. And you are here and I want you to be...and me...just…” 

Bitty’s hand finds Jack’s cheek in the darkness, and his thumb rubs gently along Jack’s jaw. “It’s okay, honey. Slow down. I’m listening.”

Jack wants to say so many things. (When they are together, he wants them to be able to take off every shred of clothing and not care what doors have been left open. He wants to wake up in the morning wrapped up around Bitty, and not have to get up for hours. He wants to be loud. He wants Bitty to be loud. Oh god.) He counts his breaths for a moment and tries again.

“I don’t want us to ever have to hide here.” 

Bitty’s fingers grip right into Jack’s bicep, and his voice is air. “Oh my.”

Jack pulls Bitty down, half on top of him, and Bitty buries his face into Jack’s shoulder. They settle in, arms wrapped tight around each other, and Jack thinks if he could, he’d stay there all night, just feeling Bitty pressed all the way against him. But they can’t. Not yet.

“Bits?”

“Hmm?”

“Before you go back to bed?” Jack tries to lighten his tone in the darkness. “Wanna make out a little?”

“Jack Zimmermann!” Bitty squeaks, and then brings his voice down to a teasing, exasperated whisper. “ _Fine._ So long as we keep the lights off.”

Jack raises his eyebrows and looks down the hallway, but his bedroom door is still firmly closed, and he can faintly hear Shitty’s snores. “Good idea.”

“Yeah,” Bitty’s voice takes on a chirping purr. “That way I can imagine you’re that hot catcher from the PawSox.”

Bitty lets out a shriek when Jack pounces on him, and it turns out that kissing, open mouthed and deep, is the only way he can keep Bitty’s laughter quiet enough that Shitty remains undisturbed.

*

When Shitty emerges from Jack’s room in the morning, he’s already packed up everything and has his backpack slung over his shoulder. He winks at Jack as he drops the bag by the front door. 

_If he only knew,_ Jack thinks.

“Morning, brah!” Shitty says, flopping onto the sofa next to Jack, on top of the folded mound of bedding that Jack needs to put away in the linen closet later.

Jack’s been up since dawn, and he’s discovered that an early morning run is _almost_ as good as a cold shower in such circumstances. He’s had a cold shower, too, just in case.

Bitty rolls out of the guest room a few minutes later, already showered and dressed. Jack’s stomach flips a bit at the thought that this will be be the last day for that. No more guest room.

“Pancakes or waffles, gentlemen?” Bitty asks, before even saying good morning. He hip checks Jack as he walks past him into the kitchen, and Jack only just manages to not choke on his coffee.

*

What with one thing and another (traffic on 95, stopping to buy Shitty a barbeque, finding out some key items are missing from the barbecue kit, trying to read the instructions for assembly in Spanish, chatting with Shitty’s star-struck, hockey fan neighbor over the fence while building the barbecue, one last beer for Shitty, wishing Shitty a good (fake) night out with his family, more traffic on 95), it’s after four o’clock when Jack finally pulls the SUV back into the garage. 

He shuts off the engine, and he and Bitty sit there in silence for a few minutes, not even looking at each other. It feels like the beginning of something. 

“Shall we?” Bitty asks, eventually.

At the door to the apartment, Jack pulls up and stops Bitty with a hand to his forearm (they haven’t touched each other otherwise, not since last night). 

“Do something for me?” Jack says, his heart suddenly racing.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Wait out here, and count to twenty? Then knock?”

Bitty looks like he’s about to ask for more explanation, his head cocked to the side, but then he just nods. 

Jack unlocks the door and lets himself in, quickly pulling off his shoes and stowing his wallet and keys on the entry table. He runs a shaking hand through his hair and tries to remember how it felt, the morning of his birthday, knowing Bitty would be arriving the next day, just for him. 

Bitty’s knock is very quiet, and definitely sooner than Jack expects. His skin prickles with anticipation. Oh god.

He cracks the door open and Bitty’s big brown eyes are peering up at him. “I’m here, Jack.”

Jack opens the door all the way and says, “You are. Bits.” 

Bitty takes a tentative step inside, and Jack shuts the door behind him. They stand awkwardly in the entry way for a moment, staring at each other. 

Bitty starts to say something, but Jack is already moving in, and catches him mid-word into a kiss, a little messy at first, noses banging together, but Bitty’s hands quickly grapple into Jack’s hair and Jack’s hands find Bitty’s hips and grab on. Jack crowds Bitty up against the door (oh god, finally) and one of Bitty’s legs hooks around behind Jack’s calf, and he can’t hold in a groan.

They freeze for a moment, but then Bitty grins right into Jack’s lips, and Jack feels it too, at last: there is no one else to hear them. No one to care that he’s pulling Bitty’s t-shirt right up and off, no one to interrupt Bitty’s frantic fumbling at Jack’s belt loops, no one to care if Jack wants to groan for the next three days. 

Jack pulls back for a moment, resting his forehead against Bitty’s, trying to catch his breath. 

“Ready?” Jack asks, not even sure exactly what he’s asking.

“I am,” Bitty says, and smiles.

*


End file.
